


the kid, the demon, and guns

by sp00nyb00ty



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp00nyb00ty/pseuds/sp00nyb00ty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Also known as "Kid has a southern drawl as he and Hiruma shoot things in Texas".</p>
            </blockquote>





	the kid, the demon, and guns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samurai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samurai/gifts).



> headcanon where hiruma and Kid speak perfect english to each other and complain about old farts. I wanted to add more Brokeback Mountain references but hell i dunno where "I ain't quittin' you" would fit with Kid and Tetsuma. thanks to lovely Pen for beta reading ;3; mentions of Tetsuma/Kid and HiruMamo with a dash of Riku/Sena/Shin lmao

“Is it wise to leave those little Devilbats of yours unattended?”

“Fuck off, Sherriff. They’re big kids. They can handle themselves.”

Kid spoke English in the most stereotypically southern way – long vowels, an easy-breezy singsong sort of bend to every word. Everything he said seemed either tentative, as if he was just waking up somewhere new, or so relaxed even Hiruma felt a bit drowsy. But Hiruma was Hiruma. His English had no accent; each word was cut and clipped to save time. Kid was the embodiment of the south and its dusty trails. His laughter came in low in his chest, a slow rumble. Pitch perfect Hiruma was a blank slate Maybe he was from New York. Maybe he was from Ohio. Maybe he was from Hell, where devils knew each tongue of the world and laughed just like him – smoky and rich from his throat.

“Ugly ass gun,” Hiruma observed, “But good aim.”

“Aren’t you a peach?” Kid grinned. Even as his eyes strayed to Hiruma, the barrel of his gun never faltered. The trigger clicked, the crack echoed through the hot Texas air, and then the empty soda can was knocked off the table Doc set up for them. There was a gaping hole right through the ‘O’ of the company name, the metal crumpled.

“How about your shitty cavalry?” it was Hiruma’s turn. When Kid stepped back Hiruma stepped up, cocking his rifle at the watermelon soaked in soda. For all of Kid’s cowboy aesthetics, Hiruma had the tried and true cowboy gun. It was rustic and charming: polished wood, a leather strap dangling in the hot night, “Might be the Alamo all over again.”

“Naw,” Kid’s drawl made Hiruma cackle despite himself. “Tetsuma and Riku got ‘em under control. Don’t you worry.”

At that, Hiruma erupted into another cackle. It was a rough sound, but charming nonetheless. There was another crack as a bullet was loosed into the world. The watermelon burst spectacularly.

“You mean just your human train, then. Albino Shrimp has his head halfway up my Pipsqueak’s ass.”

They both laughed. The air smelled like melon and cola when a breeze washed over them, dragging the saccharine sweet scent with it. In the distance, the Ben Ranch was aglow with lights from within. Hiruma and Kid had no reason to be here. They already graduated. But they still came. For the Deimon Devilbats, it was another Death March with Chuubou pushing and pushing at a massive truck until his arms felt like they were going to fall off. For the Seibu Wild Gunmans, it was running with angry bulls and lassoing wild cattle…the lassos being their naked arms and bare hands.

It wasn’t hard to catch the ‘my’ that Hiruma used so casually. It was his Monkey, his Fat Ass, his Fatty Jr., his Pipsqueak, his Fucking Manager – his team. Kid fingered the rim of his hat, smiling. Albino Shrimp – Riku (whoops) was more than a little fond of Sena. The lines of childhood friendship and something else were blurring just like Kid’s eyes sometimes. So this was what parental joy felt like. It was nice.

“It’s like you and your fuckin’ train,” Hiruma said, shaking his head, “Some Brokeback Mountain shit.” A mind reading devil, Hiruma was.

“That’s an accurate way to describe it.”

They slipped into silence again. There was a rhythm to the way they cocked the gun and reloaded. ‘5 seconds between shots.’ They moved fast, efficiently. It took skill and technical knowledge to handle the metal death slingers in their hands, but for them it was an empty-headed chore. Each click and touch was automatic and mundanely familiar as it was comforting. The guns were warm weights and the heat was cloying, but fortunately dry. Every so often Hiruma would take a swig of water from his bottle (which read DEIMON DEVILBATS in bold letters: courtesy of Suzuna’s resources and Togano’s artistic prowess), then hand it to Kid.

“Your daddy…did he come to the Christmas Bowl?”

At this, Hiruma paused. His nod was near imperceptible, but Kid prided himself on being fairly perceptive. “He did. Did your old man come to any of your games?”

There was silence for one heartbeat, then two, and then three. “Naw,” Kid said, “I reckon he didn’t care much for me after I got fifth place. You don’t get no medals for fifth place. And daddy wanted another golden boy like he was.”

At this, Hiruma’s silence seemed almost stifling. Unnatural, even, for the mysterious cackler that was Hiruma Yoichi. Silence was an unnatural state for Hiruma. When Hiruma spoke again his teeth flashed in the moonlight, glinting like a knife. In one smooth motion the barrel of the rifle was poised and still as death. Hiruma’s knuckles were white.

“Well, fuck ‘im.” The next thing shot down was an action figure in a suit with a gun and sunglasses. Some caricature of the professional, rich, and terribly boring. It might’ve been a James Bond action figure, “Fuck him. Who the fuck shoots for gold anyway? What a load of horseshit. Guns are for fun, not competition. You don’t need it. Not when you have football. He’s a loser. Fuck losers.” There was real anger in his voice, charged and impassioned beneath the tremble of forced calm. Kid had the image of a grown man with old grudges from his youth, and of a child who had seen too many things. Conflicting images that fit together too well.

Guns were solitary – the Lone Ranger or the Legendary Bandit, sort of thing. Football was a team effort. Kid chewed the inside of his cheek absently as he mulled over Hiruma’s words. ‘ _He’s sappier than I thought._ ’ It made Kid grin. Evil, devious Hiruma was calling his Devilbats his family. Kid had Tetsuma and Riku and Doc – sweet, kooky, and endearingly ineffectual Doc that let him and Tetsuma into his home without question. They probably had the worst families out of the Japanese football teams (Kid felt a deep sympathy with Kakei for controlling Mizumachi and the Double Giants), but it was fun. ‘ _Maybe Tetsuma can be the housewife and I’ll wear the suit. Riku can watch Howdy Doody._ ’

“Guess you’re right, Hiruma,” Kid holstered his gun, tipping the edge of his hat over his eyes, “Gun competitions do sound mighty silly.”

“Devilbats are going to wreck your shitty cavalry, Sherriff.”

“Remember the Alamo, Hiruma.”

Hiruma laughed again, more human and childish, “Fuck you, you dusty Sherriff. Why not retire and play some bingo instead?”

“My face might be old but my heart is young.”

The Ben Ranch was noisy when they returned. Riku was trying to drag Sena away from the horse with an eerie resemblance to Shin (it nipped at Sena’s sleeve and refused to let go). Taki was spinning around to a disgustingly catchy square dancing tune. There was beer on the walls and soda on the floor and, by some unfortunate miracle, somebody had gotten alcohol into Tetsuma. There was a rope around his waist and some unfortunate linemen (Chuubou seemed more eager than the others) tied into the rough hemp as Tetsuma chugged away with angry bulls.

“Fuckin’ Manager!” Hiruma roared with no real venom, “Get the Drunken Fist Monkey down from the ceiling!” It was back to Japanese, now. No one would prod, Kid knew, but if they did he’d say they talked about adult things.

“Riku, I don’t think that horse there is gonna let go anytime soon. Go watch some _Lucy_ , kiddo.”

“Hiruma, it won’t hurt to call me by my name.”

“Fuckin’ girlfriend. There.”

“I feel uneasy about this horse.”

“Riku, he means well! See? He just needs some attention.”

“That’s why I feel uneasy…”

(They played bingo later that night. It was terrible. Musashi won and part of the kitchen burst into flames.)

**Author's Note:**

> idk that was the most western film style title i could think of. love me


End file.
